


Bloom

by ficteer



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 13:22:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3383123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficteer/pseuds/ficteer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wasn't expecting to find Abe like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloom

**Author's Note:**

> so i was literally in the middle of writing a (longer, better) fic off of one of alex's artsies (ptolemys @ tumblr), and then she posted [this](http://bokuboks.tumblr.com/post/111327190106/sighs-adoringly) and im pretty sure im ruined for life

It wasn’t the first time Mihashi has seen Abe’s sleeping face, slack-jawed and eyebrows still furrowed like the catcher was thinking too hard about something. It wasn’t even the weirdest position - probably the time Mihashi found him in the dugout stretched over two benches with windmill limbs still took that award. He definitely doesn’t blame him; Mihashi crouches down, and when his hand comes to touch the tile of the water fountain to steady his descent, it’s cool to the touch. Smooth and clear, and not the softest pillow for a stolen afternoon nap, but perhaps one soothing to sweat-streaked hair.

Something about it felt strange, Mihashi thought, fingers curling around his shins as he peered into Abe’s face. His stomach did something weird in his gut, and for a brief second after he realized that Abe had probably fallen asleep waiting for  _him_ , he couldn’t breathe. Not in a bad way, not like the scary ways when his skin goes cold and he can’t move an inch no matter how much he wants to. It wasn’t anything like that. It was different. It was… strange.

Mihashi exhaled slowly when his lungs felt too tight, into a breeze that ruffled Abe’s hair ever so slightly. His cheeks were still a little pink from their afternoon workout, tough as ever (maybe even tougher), and made almost impossible under the summer sun. Even without touching him, Mihashi felt the body heat radiating off Abe, and before he really knew what he was doing, his hand reached out, lightly touching him on his arm. Abe was hot to the touch, skin just a little slick from residual sweat, burned to gold from their hours outdoors. And then, Mihashi bit his lower lip, eyes flicking up to Abe’s face before falling back to his hand, and he let his finger trail over each inch of Abe’s bicep, up until his finger caught on the black shirt and passed a tan line marking sacred space.

His breath suddenly picking up, Mihashi took his hand back, staring down at it in wonder. Nothing seemed to have changed, but it felt different, now. He looked back to Abe’s face, his slightly parted lips, the soundless air that puffed out with each even exhale as deep as the sudden gap between Mihashi’s throat and his ribcage. There was something… missing, he decided. One last little piece.

He stood carefully, using the core muscles he’d earned after a year of hard work so he didn’t stumble and wake his catcher. He looked around, and then, something caught his eye in the surrounding school yard. It was a tiny garden, probably tended by the school’s horticulture club, and in the middle were two flowers blooming next to one another, each with a leaf stretching out between them until they just barely touched. Mihashi stepped over as quickly and quietly as he could with the humbleness he suddenly felt, and when he crouched down, it was just as he’d seen from afar - two flowers, holding hands in the light of the sun.

Biting his lip, Mihashi looked around quickly, and then back down to the flowers when he was satisfied that no one was around and he could do this without anyone knowing otherwise. Reaching out, he took the smaller flower and broke the stem, plucking it and taking it in his hand with a rush of adrenaline that was probably unnecessary. He then walked over to Abe, careful not to let his shadow fall over his catcher in case that woke him up (could that wake someone up??? it happened in the movies, but…). Then, Mihashi crouched back down, and with a care he usually reserved for the seconds of a pitch, he reached over and delicately tucked the stem behind Abe’s ear.

He meant to pull his hand back as soon as the flower was in place, to examine his work, to see if that really was what had been missing. But his hand lingered, fingers lightly brushing the petals of the flower, his eyes going from the sweet-smelling blossom to the face it was framing, and again, Mihashi’s stomach did the Thing. He couldn’t look away, not this time, not when he could see from this close each of Abe’s eyelashes resting on his cheekbones, the dip of his upper lip, not when he could just taste the lemon water on Abe’s breath that was the same as was on his own. Abe was beautiful, Mihashi suddenly thought, and as if the word fell from his throat into a pool in his chest, the ripples spread to his fingertips and toes in an awareness that had his mouth open around a soundless awe.

He thought about it, leaning in and brushing his lips against Abe’s cheek. Or maybe, in a world where he was a little braver, maybe he could go for Abe’s lips instead, to see if they were as soft as they looked, if they could put the silk of the flower in his hair to shame like Mihashi suspected they could. He thought about letting his fingers trace the solid line of Abe’s jaw, maybe back to his arm, and down until he could let their fingers tangle together in the wordless affection he hadn’t recognized in himself until just now. He thought about all of these things, slowly, carefully, each second filled with the hummingbird heartbeat in his chest, but he settled for none of them, instead finally letting his hand pull away from Abe’s face, resting instead on his mouth, feeling the gentle heat in his face he knew wasn’t from exertion, but something else, something as tender as a summer bloom.

And so, he knelt, eyes locked on Abe’s face and all the words jumbling in his head held back by the soft press of his palms against his mouth, silently protecting Abe’s slumber until he woke, hoping his dreams were as sweet and filled with hope as the floral perfume that filled the air between them.

 


End file.
